N For Nightcrawler
by Kate Van Helsing
Summary: England is overrun by a totalarianism government. After a nearfatal encounter with government agents, Kitty Pryde is rescued by a mysterious masked man with plans to take the government down. V for Vendetta Spoilers.
1. Heeeeere's N!

Greetings, good people. Before this story begins, allow me to apologize for my pathetic story attempt: Demon's River. I can't quite remember WHAT I was on writing it. Oh well. This X-Menized version of V For Vendetta will be way better! You don't even need to use your imagination for a grown up Kitty since she will likely look like Natalie Portman when older anyway. Thank you for even considering reading this. FREEDOM FOREVER!

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_History says it writes about people. It doesn't. It writes about ideas. Who knows anything about people in history books? The man is forgotten, the idea is immortalized. But ideas can't feel. They can't feel sorrow, or pity, or joy, or anger. They can't feel love. But the man who created the idea, the man the idea is named after in the books, he could. Who knows if the man felt sorrow for friends, pity for opposing soldiers whose families would grieve, joy for his victories, or anger for his enemies. No, only those who loved the person, who knew the man instead of the idea, remember. This story is about the rebirth of an idea, and about the man who started it and what he meant to me._

Kitty Pryde was your basic average Londoner if you gave her a glance. Her brown hair, brown eyes, and slim frame were cute if you were interested in waif-like girls but she was other wise pretty much uninteresting to look at. She was putting on her makeup and getting dressed up to meet a friend. Curfew was getting near, but she just needed to hurry, no problem.

The code yellow curfew alarm started. "_Attention, citizens of London. The code yellow curfew is now in affect. Please return to your homes immediately. All unauthorized personnel caught outside their homes will be detained without question by government officials. Remember, this is for your own protection."_

"Shit," she swore very unlady-like. She just would have to hurry. She slipped on her high heels and trench coat and slipped out the door. _Please, God, do not let any government personnel find me._ What happened to her parents…

No time to think about that. She had to go.

Things were quiet. Well, it _was_ past curfew. _For your protection._ Sure. No one out except for some creepy guy. She walked faster. She did not have time for this

"'ey, miss. Out late, aren't we?"

Kitty looked at him, "I know, but I need to visit my uncle. He's a very sick man."

"Sick uncle? Very sad. Makes my heart break," said a voice from behind. She spun around. There were two other men. She broke out in a cold sweat.

"Look, I _really_ need to be going." She attempted to rush by him.

He caught her by the shoulder, pulled her back, and showed her his two-barred cross badge. A government officer. "Not so fast, darling."

The other two held the struggling Kitty down while the first looked at her with mock debating.

"Should we let this one off with a warning, boys? After all, we don't see a girl this cute very often. It would be a pity to damage her pretty face," he said with a smirk on his face.

Kitty was terrified, "Yes, please! I'm sorry! I won't ever do it again, I swear!"

The officer smirked again, "Aw, she said she was sorry. What do you think, boys?"

A particularly nasty looking man with one hand on his belt answered first, "You know what they say, chief. _Spare the rod, spoil the child._ I say lets _punish_ her."

"My thoughts exactly."

"No, please! NO! _NO!_" she screamed. This was it, they were going to rape her and drag her away to God knows where with a black bag over her head. She closed her eyes.

Suddenly, the sound of a knife being drawn was heard. A deep, strong voice with a rich German accent was heard quoting _Macbeth_, "Disdaining fortune with his brandished steel/ Which smoked with bloody execution."

He was tall, with black clothes, a black cape, black hat, three knives on one side of his torso, two on the other due to the fact he was holding one, but most striking was his mask. It was a pale, rosy-cheeked, smiling, Guy Fawkes mask.

The main officer looked at him, "He's got a knife!"

The officers dropped Kitty and began firing.

He was either bulletproof or able to dodge nearly point blank gunfire. He leapt through them, but never killed. He played with them first. Slicing one's cheek, cutting the one most eager to assault Kitty's pants off, minor things. Then he got deadly. He cut through the men with near surgical precision. Finally, only the over-zealous cop with no pants was left. The lone vigilante walked over.

"Please, no! Have mercy!"

" 'We are oft to blame in this. 'Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage and pious action, we do sugar o'er the devil himself.' '_Spare the rod, spoil the child_'." With that speech he quickly sliced the wretch's throat, ending his life. He then cut a circle with a calligraphy-like N in it on a government propaganda poster.

Kitty stood there in shock, watching the spectacle. Who was this man? Where was he from? Why had he helped her? His bloody work done, he carefully walked towards her.

"Are you all right, ma'am? I assure you I mean you no harm." he politely stated, offering his hand to help her up.

She gawked for a minute before answering, "Yes, thank you. Who are you?"

"Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am is a man in a mask."

Her eyebrows went up and her eyes narrowed, "Yes, I can see that."

"Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation. I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is."

"Oh, right."

"But on this most auspicious of nights permit me, then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the _character_ of this _dramatis persona_. The nation's newest, near-miss neurotic, Nero of the_nouvelles_, the neo-revolutionary with the need for nebulosity. I am the natator of that not known. The nemisis of the necrolatics' narks. Negator of the neo-communists."

"You may call me 'N'. "

"Are you a crazy person?"

"There are some who would say so. Who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"Kitty Pryde."

"Ah, lovely name. Do youenjoy music, Kitty?"

"Yes..." This man, "N", what did he mean?

"You see, I'm a musician of sorts and on my way to give a very special performance."

"What kind of performance?"

"Percussion instruments are my specialty, but tonight I intend to call upon the entire orchestra for this particular event. And I would be most honored if you could join me. It will be like nothing you have seen or heard before and I assure you that you will return home quite safely."

"Well, all right."

"Wunderbar! Follow me now, Miss Pryde."

N led her up to a building's rooftop, were they could see a golden statue on an old building built by Parliament long ago. "A more perfect stage could not be asked for."

"I don't see any instuments."

"Your powers of observation continue to serve you well. Miss Pryde, do you know what tomorrow is, by any chance?"

"November the fifth, I believe."

"Ah. _Remember, Remember the Fifth of November/ The Gunpowder Treason and Plot/ I know no reason why the Gunpowder Treason/ Should ever be forgot._ Guy Fawkes Day. Back in 1605 he set out to blow up Parliament to protest discrimination against Catholics. Depending on who your asking it's about celebrating the Gunpowder Treason's failure or it's attempt. By the mask I wear, you can guess what I celebrate it for. Though I was not born in England, I truly admire that man. Well, enough history, let us start the concert, shall we?"

From seemingly out of nowhere, N pulled out a conductor's baton and pulled a lever. He moved his hands as though conducting a great orchestra, when no sound could be heard.

"Do you hear it, Kitty?" Much to her surprise, she _did._ Very faintly at first, but steadily gaining volume. It was coming from the speakers that the government called curfew on each night. By now, it was blaring. Despite the threat of curfew, people were coming out of their houses and leaning out windows.

"How did you do that?" Kitty was amazed. She could recognize this piece as the 1812 Overture. N was truly enjoying himself.

"And now, the crescendo!" he yelled with glee.

The main chorus of the symphony started with thunderous trumpets and cannons and the explosion of the building with the golden statue. Not just exploding, fireworks streaming out like the Fourth of July. People below were either covering their mouths in horror or applauding. N was clearly having a ball. Hands now lowered, N stood watching. "Beautiful, is it not?"

Kitty again just stood in shock. The show over, N strode over to her.

"Did you enjoy this evening's performance, Miss Pryde?"

She was at a loss for words. "I..." But N was gone. From out of nowhere, she heard his voice.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear. We will meet again one day in the future, perhaps. I hope that day is not too far off.

She quickly nodded "Yes..."and walked away fast, wondering if this N was a saint or a psycho.

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	2. The Nefarious Network

Before I start this chapter, let me do one thing first: THANK YOU ELLINA HOPE! MY FIRST EVER REVIEW! THANK YOU! About the speeches, I was going by memory here, I'm sorry if it wasn't exact. And the words beginning with V, yeah, I was being lazy but I wrote this early in the morning, and I was tired, and I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO EDIT MY STORY! I BLAME MY COMPUTER! I think it was bought at a yard sale. But, no worries! I have the book of the movie so things will be way more accurate than my first chapter. I seriously think Magneto would be like the Chancellor if he had his way. Really, I do. Thanks for the criticism, which will help me immensely, and freedom forever.

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Somewhere in London, hidden from the public eye, as was everything important/ interesting/ or otherwise not dull, was a conference room. THE Conference Room. Where the Head of Parliament sat and conversed with the Chancellor himself. Chancellor Erik Lensherr was not a happy camper. The Old Bailey, over one hundred years it had stood, gone.

He faced the Head, "Gentlemen, you've had four hours. You had better have results."

Eric picked out a victim, "Mr. Creed!"

Gulp. "The Old Bailey area is quarantined. All significant witnesses have been detained."

Not to mention any information they could have had been beaten out of them or was at the moment. After all, Creed's particular branch was known for their efficiency, not subtlety. That was someone else's job.

Lensherr seemed pleased, or less hostile, "Good. Tolensky?"

_God help me._ "A recording device was found wired in the Central Emergency Broadcast System. The DCD was Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture…"

"Add it to the Black List. I never want to hear that music again."

"Yes sir." Todd Tolensky wrote down some notes and got sweaty and shaky, glad to be let off the hook. One of the reasons some of Parliament called him "the Toad" behind his back. If it were not for his tech intellect he'd have long ago been replaced with someone with a spine.

Chancellor Lensherr was glad he did not have to deal with any of these people personally. It was a Godsend he could just have videoconferences with people instead of actually suffer through being in the general vicinity of these imbecilic excuses for Parliament members.

Tolensky decided to test his luck and report something Lensherr would not like at all. He hated saying anything his leader might remotely dislike but no one kept secrets from the Chancellor. No one.

"We also doubled our random sweeps and are monitoring an increased amount of phone surveillance, indicating a high percentage of conversation concerned with the explosion."

Lensherr turned his attention to the lone female official, "Miss Darkholme, what are we doing about that?" Raven Darkholme was not a coward like the others. She held her head high and answered him.

"We're calling it an 'emergency demolition'. We have spin coverage on the Network and throughout the InterLink. Several experts have been lined up to testify about Old Bailey's lack of structural integrity."

Lensherr nodded and thought for a moment. Then he spoke, "I want Jason to speak tonight on the dangers of these old buildings, and how we must avoid clinging to the edifice of a decadent past. He should conclude by saying that the New Bailey will become a symbol of our time, and of the future that our conviction has rewarded us with. Mr. Alvers."

Lance Alvers had hoped to be ignored. No such luck. "Our surveillance cameras captured several images of the terrorist though the mask obviously makes retinal identification impossible. We also managed to get a picture of the girl Creed's men were… _detaining._"

"Who is she, Mr. Summers?"

"Not sure yet, sir, but we're working on several leads."

"Anything else?"

"We located the fireworks launcher and found traces of the explosives used at the site. Unfortunately, it appears that despite the heavy level of sophistication, these devices are homemade with over-the-counter chemicals, making them very difficult to trace. Whoever he is, Chancellor, he's very good."

"Just a second, were you by any chance _admiring_ him?"

"No, Chancellor Lensherr. My apologies."

"Gentlemen, this is a test. Moments such as these are matters of faith. To fail is to invite doubt in everything we believe and in everything we have fought for. Doubt will plunge this country back into chaos, and I will not let that happen. I want this terrorist found, gentlemen, and I want him to learn what terror really means. England prevails.

"England prevails!"

Jordan Television Tower. The nation's leading "information" station. Raven Darkholme liked to think of it as her domain. She looked at Rob and Sam, the head anchors, as they prepared the words she had written for their oh-so-gullible audience. Rob spoke his lines,

"On the lighter side of things, it seems that the crew responsible for the demolition of the Old Bailey wanted to give the old girl a grand, albeit improvised, send-off…"

Perfect. Back in the studio Darkholme and her senior assistant Irene watched with distracted attention. Irene turned to Raven, "You think people will buy this?"

"Why not? We're the Network. We report the news, not fabricate it."

"That's the government's job."

Back in the newsroom, Rob and Sam werecontinuing their morning lies. Sam was picking up on Roberto's lead.

"Though the demolition had been planned for some time, the music and fireworks were not on the schedule. All is well with the world. It was just a tiny joke by an overenthusiastic crewmember that got a little out of hand. Trust us."

Kitty and her friend Marie D'Ancanto, who liked to be called Rogue, were watching the news from the same floor it was being shot on. Rogue snorted.

"Do you believe that load of bullshit? That wasn't no bloody demolition. I saw it. The whole thing. Every one in my flat saw it. You?"

"No, I didn't. Remember where I was going last night?"

"Oh, that's right! You went to Big Daddy Hank's last night, didn't you? Spill."

It was Kitty's good luck that Irene chose that moment to barge in.

"Kitty! I've been looking all over for you. You're still working for me, right?"

"Sorry, Irene."

"I need two espressos and three filter coffees from downstairs and Hank is ready for his tea."

Kitty sighed. First, that bomber, N, now, doing slave labor for Irene. Story of her life.

Scott Summers leaned back, pondering this latest case. Other than being known for compulsive sunglasses wearing (they had only come off once, during an officeparty on a dare), he was known for his near flawless capture record. But this wasn't as simple. It could have been some bank raid, but, oh no, this just had to be a terrorist attack. Whoop-di-doo for him. And it wasn't like Creed and his lackeys were being a big bloody help, either. His lieutenant, Evan Daniels, looked over his shoulder.

"I don't get it. Why does he wear a Guy Fawkes mask and then blow up the Old Bailey? Didn't Fawkes try to blow up Parliament?"

"I don't know. Maybe our boy's just getting started."

Daniels' phone rang. As he went to answer it, Chief Inspector Summers thought about this terrorist. Who was he? What were his motives? And why the _fuck_ was he wearing a Guy Fawkes mask? Before he could really get these ideas started, Evan Slammed down the phone, grabbed his coat and said, "We got a lead on the girl."

Kitty walked in Hank's office, tray in hand. He was talking on the phone to who knows when he noticed her. He quickly finished the conversation, hung up, and smiled at her.

"I can't remember ever being stood up by a more attractive woman."

"Mr. McCoy…"

"Please, it's Hank. Nothing like being called 'mister' to remind you that you're old."

"Okay, 'Hank', I was coming but there were officers around, I got scared."

"Sadly, after last night, I think our curfew will only get worse. But you're right. After last night home is probably the safest place to be."


	3. N's Announcement

Are you reading this still? Yay! I don't completely suck! This will have much more action than my last chap. Don't worry. Suggestions for character equivalents welcome and appreciated. Enjoy, and freedom forever.

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Although Hank did not have a clue, home was certainly NOT the safest place for Kitty. Summers and Daniels knocked down the door and came in, guns drawn. They searched around for any information. Addresses of friends, lovers, family, work, whatever could be used to get to her.

Her house was definitely not one you would expect a dangerous terrorist to live in. A shy college student or office worker, maybe. Terrorist, never. No bomb chemicals, no devious plots of destruction, the most dangerous object they found was a butcher knife laying next to left-over roast beef in the fridge.

Summers walked into what he guessed was her bedroom. He saw her mirror on top of a vanity, pictures tucked in the frame. No blurry security camera photos, these were perfect hardcore evidence. He had found their girl.

"Gotcha."

If this weren't the only job she would ever get, Kitty would have quit long ago. "Junior personal assistant", ha. Get this, file that, two steps behind me at all times. Blah blah blah. She carted the boxes full of God-knows away like a good little assistant. She rolled past the security room where instead of watching the monitors, Fred was immersed in _Storm Saxon_'s latest episode.

"Hey, Fred."

"Those been X-rayed?"

"Nope. They're all full of bombs."

"Wait till next commercial before settin' 'em off, would ya?"

Kitty snorted, "I can't believe you watch that shit, Fred."

He looked hurt, "But Laser Lass is just banging!"

"Mm hm." She didn't have time for this. She walked in a dressing room full of half-dressed girls. The woman in charge, Emma Frost, much less provocatively dressed, looked at her half-heartedly. "What the hell's that?"

"No clue. Just came for Stage Three."

"Like I don't have enough to do. What the hell…"

The box she opened was full of black capes and pale masks. Guy Fawkes masks. Kitty thought she would pass out. Wasn't N wearing just that?

Emma seemed bored. "Just put them in the corner, would you Kit? Kit?" She was gone.

Kitty was walking as fast as humanly possible. Rogue saw her and hurried over. "What is it? Come on, Kitty, what happened?"

"I… I don't feel good. I gotta go." She actually _looked_ sick.

"It wasn't Hank, was it? What did El Perverto say?"

"It wasn't him. I just gotta go." She did.

Summers and Daniels were driving towards Jordan Tower as fast as they could. Summers was worried that this was it. He was going to die today. And it wasn't going to be the terrorist that did him in, it was Daniels' driving. Ignoring impending doom, he looked through Katherine Pryde's files.

"This is serious. Her parents were political activists. They were 'detained' by Creed and his men when she was twelve."

"What happened to her?"

"Juvenile Reclamation Project for five straight years of hell."

"Shit…"

Summers mulled over what must have happened to this girl for a moment then jumped back to reality. "We're going to need backup if this girl went to JRP."

"You sure, Scott?"

"I want to talk to this girl before Creed black-bags her. And…WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!"

Back in Jordan, Fred sat wishing he were the lucky bastard who played Storm Saxon alongside Laser Lass. Some men had all the luck. From the corner of his eye, he noticed one camera fizzle into static. Then another. Then another. He averted his eyes from Laser Lass's bosom to the screens.

"What the hell. Is a fuse blown?" This wishful thinking was taken down by the elevator's soft 'ding' and swishing open. "Who's that?"

All he could see was a smiling mask, (the original of those Emma had just received below) a wide-brimmed hat, and a long cape. An actor in costume was the obvious conclusion, but not quite right. Something was off. Was it an intruder? Oh, God, it was, wasn't it? He was going to be fired for negligence, unless…

He pulled out a gun. "I ain't playing! Show me an I.D. or you're getting the bloody Storm Saxon treatment! Do it!" Nice, very nice. Maybe he should go into showbiz.

The man said nothing. Just opened up his cape to reveal dynamite strapped to his chest. Fred nearly had a heart attack. "Oh, hell…"

N nodded as if to say, "Yep, You're screwed." N disarmed the hapless guard, whispered quiet, precise instructions and they both walked down the hall, Fred quaking in fear.

Kitty heard the police outside and walked faster. She needed to abandon ship…_fast._ She walked by the security room and saw something you don't see often. Fred was not at his post. Sure, he barely watched the screens, but he never left his station. Not in all the years he worked there. And especially not when _Storm Saxon_ was on. Yeah, she had to go.

A little farther down the hall everyone in the news studio was rooted to the spot from utter terror. Detonator in hand, bomb in full view, N was deadly serious. The instant Kitty hit the elevator button, N hit the fire alarm. That should get everyone out.

In the lobby, Summers, Daniels, and the police officers they had called in heard the alarms. Showtime.

Summers took charge. "You two take the elevators, the rest of you, follow me!"

Up above, N was drilling the doors shut and no one even tried to stop him.

Kitty was freaking out. Of all the times for the elevator to bust, why now? She merged with the herd of employees heading for the emergency stairs. _Moo_, she thought sarcastically. At first, they were calm, collected, walking in order to the stairs, but as soon as the idiot with the microphone said, "This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill," all hell broke loose. The herd became a wild mob, with Kitty right in the middle. At least no one would notice her now, right?

Raven Darkholme was rushing against the stampede trying to figure out what was happening to her precious studio. Her private security team was attempting to bash down the door to the newsroom. It wasn't working. She was getting frustrated. "Try harder! And will SOMEONE TURN THOSE ALARM BELLS OFF!"

Kitty was getting to the stairs. _God bless the inventor of stairs_, she thought. Then Summers and his men rushed up. _They were coming for her._

"Oh my God. They know!" She turned around and bolted.

"Gorrammit!" Summers yelled. So, little Kathy wanted a chase, eh? She was going to get one.

N had reached the control booth, detonator still held up, pressed in a DCD in a technician's palm. Even with the mask, it was obvious what he wanted. _Play it or this place goes boom._

He slipped in the disc.

Kitty slunk in a room and hid under a cart. Evan Daniels came in, ready for action. On the television, a sitcom was playing, censored and approved by the government of course. Out of the blue, the screen flickered and went static. All across England, televisions were turning static.

In a suburban house a family was watching the end of Storm Saxon. The screen went snowy. "Mummy, what's wrong with the telly?" "I don't know, sweetie."

Kitty watched, confused. What in the world? She didn't have to wait long. An image was appearing. It was him. N. The face in close-up as a mockery of Chancellor Lensherr's close-up speeches. Instead of the ever-familiar BTN in the corner of the screen, there was NTV with N's red symbol to the left. Tribute to the ancient MTV station that had been cancelled due to lack of upright morals? Who knew.

N's rich, accented voice was calm, soothing, and rather pleasant to listen to. Good morning, London."

Kitty was panicking. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be, could it?

Raven Darkholme wasn't exactly having a day of sherry and giggles either. (Sorry. I love that line.) This was impossible. The station, HER station was being overrun by some Guy Fawkes wannabe in a cape. Someone was going to be skinned alive by her hands. No one screwed with her station.

N calmly continued with his message, "Allow me, first, to apologize for this interruption."

Darkholme was having a fit. "He's using the emergency channel! HURRY!"

N's reasonable voice went on, "I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of the everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquility of television. I enjoy them as much as anyone."

Summers was getting a tad angry. Bloody hell, finding this terrorist and girlfriend was like Stevie Wonder trying to find "Where's Waldo". And the man in question was still going on as though this sort of thing happened every day. Exploiting the government's voice against them, the nerve.

N was still going strong, "But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or with the end of some awful, bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday, I thought that this year we could mark the fifth of November…a day that is sadly no longer remembered…by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat."

Darkholme was in her office with Irene and several guards watching NTV and ready to wring N's neck at the drop of a hat.

"There are those, of course, who do not want us to speak. In fact I suspect that right now orders are being shouted into phones, and that men with guns will soon be on their way."

Right on cue Darkholme's cell phone rang. Irene answered it, went pale, and gave it to Darkholme. "It's Chancellor Lensherr." She was trying her best to keep air in her lungs. For Darkholme, Judgment Day had come at last. "Dammit."

"Anything and everything will be done to stop me talking to you."

Scott stood there hypnotized. Evan Daniels ran up to him. "We're going to need a torch." Summers nodded and continued watching. When Daniels looked at him quizzically, Summers simply said, "Know your enemy."

"Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power."

Kitty was transfixed. N's voice still managed to captivate her. Where was he going with this?

"Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. The truth is: there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?"

Raven Darkholme was busy trying to talk her way out of trouble with Lensherr while at the same time trying to listen to N talk.

N's voice was gaining even more strength and power, "Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance, coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission."

Darkholme finished her talk and hung up. She looked outside and saw the police with a huge torch heading for the studio. She shouted the first words that came to her mind. "Cameras! We need cameras!"

"How did this happen? Who is to blame? Certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, if truth be told…if you are looking for the guilty, you need only look in the mirror.

"I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War. Terror. Disease. Food and water shortages. There were a myriad of problems, which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense.

"Fear got the best of you, and in your panic, you turned to the now High Chancellor, Erik Lensherr, with his gleaming boots of polished leather and his garrison of goons. He promised you order. He promised you peace. An all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent."

Daniels gave Summers a security update. "Inspector, they're almost through."

"Last night, I sought to end the silence. Last night, _I_ destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it had forgotten. Four hundred years ago, one of your citizens wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world, not just England, the world, that fairness, justice, and freedom were more than just words. They are perspectives. So if you have seen _nothing_, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I suggest that you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked. But if you see as I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek, as I seek, freedom from their tyranny and oppression, than I ask that you stand beside me, one year from last night, at midnight, outside the gates of Parliament. And together, we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, _ever_, be forgot!"

With that last spirit-lifting moment, the recording ended. Kitty saw she was alone in the room at last and ran.

Everyone wondered what would take place in one year, and for the first time in nearly twenty years, rebellion brewed in England.


	4. The NonNationalist's Escape

A word to my lovely readers: thank you! You make me feel so loved. Spring break is over (Sigh.) so chapters will take longer to send in. Hopefully not too long. Thank you for the reviews! E, I'm thinking about using your idea. It's that or Jean-Paul. Sorry, but I can't think of how to put in mutants. However, our cute little N will still look the same (You'll see! ;) ) and certain scenes later on will be altered. The ending will be so sad. (Sniff.) I don't know if I'll get to the part with Kurt in an apron (Drool.) in this chapter, but I'll try. Well, enough of that, let's get this show on the road! Thank you, and freedom forever.

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Raven Darkholme's lackeys finally torched through the studio door. That masked freak of nature was going to pay for what he did. He messed with _HER_ station! This was the media, as sacred as Christ himself! Wait, they were holier than Christ! They were the voice of the almighty government and they needed the slack-jawed public's undying worship! Who did this guy think he was? Her men would get him on tape and destroy him with a sizzling news report; that was for damn sure.

Scott Summers and Evan Daniels arrived just in time for the party. Summers was worried. _Victor Creed's gonna black-bag that poor girl and she might just be a pawn in this sicko's game. Kathy's probably just some kid who was kidnapped, dragged along, and used to divert our attention away from this N freak. While we were tracking that poor sweetheart, N went and took over the Network. _ Although he was a respected member of Parliament, Summers had a few things the others didn't have: a conscience and the belief that justice should always prevail. Too bad if he said anything resembling this, he'd be black-bagged before he could blink.

The men quickly opened the door, guns ready to go, and were met with a thick haze of fog. Darkholme looked over Summers' shoulder. "He's using our smoke machine," she hissed through clenched teeth, venom dripping from each syllable.

_Thank you, Captain Obvious._ Summers was half tempted to give an archaic Bill Engvall "Here's Your Sign" quip, but thought better of it, There wasn't time, and someone would question him on why he was reciting a banned show. If he was a sadistic bomber and he had just hacked his message into every TV in England, where would he hide?

He told Daniels and some of the younger, less experienced officers to stay back. Time to rock. Darkholme's cameras zoomed in on the story of the century. Hopefully this wouldn't be censored too much. Something moved in the fog and all attention was turned to it.

"Don't shoot! DON'T SHOOT!"

A masked and cloaked figure emerged from the gray, arms raised in the universal symbol for "I'm not carrying a bomb, gun, or huge fucking samurai sword, don't blow my head off". It was a shame several trigger-happy officers didn't recognize the significance of the gesture. The force of the shots sent the terrorist apparent flying and he hit the ground. Hard. Heavily bleeding, he lay sobbing and begging for mercy. Something wasn't right here. Summers leaned over and saw "N's" wrists were tied. Score that "not right" feel double. He took off the mask and saw that they hadn't shot the terrorist. They shot an old man. Darkholme took one look and gasped.

"That's Longshot! He's one of our studio executives." She was wide-eyed and terrified. How many of her mindless drones had N got? Did he realize how much money it cost to keep up their salary?

There were more noises coming from the thick fog. "Don't shoot! For Crissakes, point the guns somewhere else! Can I just speak to my mama one more time? Shuttup! You wanna get us all killed?"

About a dozen N-people walked out, all looking the same. Which one was it? Were none of them it? Were all of them in it? _God,_ Summers thought,_ This guy's good._ One trigger-happy policeman and this could be as bad as St. Mary's. The situation was too volatile to screw up and Summers knew it.

"Everyone in a mask get on your knees and don't move. NOW!" The unfortunate wretches didn't need to be told twice. They'd been threatened enough for one day.

"Get their masks off, leave their hands tied." Summers commanded, pointing at the said figures.

The voice of the young employee called out from Summers's knee, "He's got a bomb wired to a timer! It's in the control room! Please, hurry!"

Daniels came in just in time to hear. "Oh no…"

Summers was ready to strangle N till he turned blue. () "Christ! You! Get everyone without a mask out of here!" He pointed to the old man still bleeding, "Get him to a hospital!" Darkholme and her camera crew were rushing ahead, getting as many shots as they could. "Everyone else, let's go!"

Darkholme's crew taping everything, Summers walked into the control room. There was the bomb, set and ready to blow. Darkholme was on her knees, hands clenched. Not together, on a pair of wire clippers. And those sure weren't prayers coming out of her mouth.

"Just what are you doing!"

She gave him a death glare, "I've worked too hard and long on this station to have it destroyed now."

He narrowed his eyes, "Do you have a clue what you're doing?"

She looked him in the eyes, or shades, "Pray that I do."

The lone officer, Tabitha Smith, had joined the force for the thrill of adrenaline. Well, here it was, and she didn't like it. The loose, wild girl she was had become a SWAT team worthy professional in five minutes flat. "Keep following me! Don't push!" Trying to keep the unmasked civilians in order was difficult, but she was trying.

"Wait! Don't shoot! Wait for us!"

She turned around, gun ready anyway. Two masked people were running scared down the hall. One of them had the other in front of him or her. Great. That was just perfect.

Suddenly, the one in front was seemingly pushed and fell on top of several cops. He, the voice was masculine, cried out, "Shoot! _It's him!_ _THAT'S THE TERRORIST!"_

"Dear God…" Smith whispered. "Get on your knees! NOW!" The man did.

Smith kept her gun on the man and pulled off the mask. It was Fred, big-eyed and gagged.

"What the…"

The other man in a mask was moving before Smith even touched the mask. Before she knew what was going on, she was unconscious.

N worked quickly, knives whirling, dispatching the other officers before they could draw their guns.

Summers was going to have a conniption. The soft ticking of the bomb's timer was deafening. Darkholme was trying to remember every movie, all eight of them, that showed how to dismantle a bomb. Red wire, or green wire? Red or green? Red, green, red, green, red, green… Green? Her clippers hovered over the green for a second, before

Cutting the red. Time was up. Her and Summers closed their eyes.

Nothing. No explosion, no boom, not even a pop. They checked the timer. 00:00. The bomb was neutralized. Job well done, promotions all around.

Darkholme's eyes were wide. "I did it! I ACTUALLY DID IT!"

_Yay for you,_ thought Summers. He pushed her out of the way and went to get N. Threatening the lives of innocents, where did he get off? He ran as fast as possible.

Kitty Pryde was running towards the elevators, hoping they worked. If they didn't, at least she'd see her parents again. There were footsteps down the corridor. She ducked behind a corner and discreetly looked around.

It was N.

Perfect. Her life wasn't too spectacular beforehand, but after N came, things got way more complicated. He was extremely attractive. Even though she had never really seen him, his personality, his courage, courage that she would never had, were quite appealing. What? _Get those thoughts out of your head, Kitty. You've never even seen the guy and look what he did to the studio. He's trouble, girl, and you know it._ She assumed her brief moment of fantasy was some psychological thing. Girls go for the dangerous mysterious guy and they always turn out to be jerks. Or sadistic bombers.

Kitty stayed hidden and hoped N wouldn't see her. See her, sweep her off her feet and… _Stop it. _She heard him come closer and saw the tip of his strangely two-fingered glove and…

"FREEZE! DON'T MOVE!"

Evan Daniels had held his gun in two hands, pointing it at N's head.

"Hands on your head." Nothing. "DO IT!"

N complied. In a faintly amused voice he commented, "I must say that I'm rather astonished by the response time of London's Finest. I hadn't expected you to be so Johnny-On-The-Spot."

"Shut it." Evan spat. He hated being patronized. "Bad luck, buddy-boy."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he remarked with a look around the corner.

Kitty froze. He knew she was here? If she didn't interfere, N'd be gone. Life would go back to normal. Good ol' reliable, terror-filled normal. She made a choice.

Evan didn't hear her creep up behind him. He was too busy in a _London Hero Captures Dangerous Terrorist_ fantasy. Kitty tapped his shoulder. "Huh?"

A stream of mace went strait in his eyes.

Daniels screamed, somehow got the can of mace away from her, and hit her over the head with a sharp _crack._ Before he could do more damage, N dragged Evan away from the unconscious Kitty, knocking _him_ out. That done, he stood over Kitty, contemplating what she'd done.

_She saved my life. I should just leave her here, her debt to me's repaid, but I can't. I won't leave her for Victor Creed "the Sabertooth" to black-bag and torture. I have to take her with me._ N picked up Kitty in both arms and carried her out like a hero with his fair damsel.

Television screens all over England turned on to scenes of Jordan Tower being flooded with police, a foggy room filled with strange people in masks, and Ray and Sam commemorating the bravery of the officers and the cowardice of the terrorist.

Sam sat in his anchor chair delivered the final words, "This is only an initial report, but it is believed that said terrorist was shot and killed in this heroic raid. Wait… we now have an official update… yes, the terrorist is dead. This is a great victory for London's boys in blue!"

All across England millions of people, including Kitty's friend Rogue said one word: "Bullshit."


	5. Neat Nostalgia

Buon giorno, mi bellezzi! Welcome back! This chapter involves many strange and wonderful things, like N in a frilly apron! Thank you again for all the lovely reviews! By the way, before I get started, two things. First: I need character ideas. I can't think of anyone for the perverted priest. Second: if you really like Nightcrawler, I'd suggest Blue Frodo's _Even Angels Have Scars_ and its sequel _Until Death Do Us Part._ They should seriously be published as Nightcrawler's official back-story. Now, with all that jazz done, let's get this show on the road! Freedom forever!

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Kitty woke up with a killer throbbing in her head. She felt like she got hit with a bus. However, when she reached up to touch the wound, there was a nice, cool, damp washcloth there. Who did that?

Memories came flashing back and she realized _she was in someone else's bed._ This freaked her out until she looked down and saw she was fully dressed. Crisis over, she had a look around.

Towers of books piled haphazardly surrounded her. They were forbidden authors, the lot of them. J.R.R. Tolkein, Jane Austen, Elizabeth Bronte, Oscar Wilde… the list went on. Kitty remembered most of these authors from books her father used to read to her when she was little. They would sit by the fire, warm, snuggled, the smell of her mother's chocolate chip cookies drifting from the oven, so much better than her own pitiful cooking, his big powerful deep voice that sounded so much like N's… wait, N!

_This must be his home,_ she thought wonderingly. There was music coming from outside her door. Sad, haunting, yet deeply touching, reaching down to her soul. African American music. Blues. She hadn't heard it for a while after Lensherr banned its use, along with the people who sang those wonderful tunes. Kitty remembered her father playing them while he read. She blinked back tears, missing those simple days of Ray Charles, The Canterbury Tales, and mom's cooking. (Me too.)

Kitty slowly stepped out of the room, and entered a Naucratis of nostalgia. There were ancient items of foreign countries, bricks from Hadrian's Wall when England was a Roman province, and most of all thousands of pieces of prohibited pop culture. Movie posters and posters for a circus called Gelhaar, the movies themselves, music albums that had any rebelliousness or foreign affiliation, paintings of satire, TV shows that had political anything, homosexuality, lesbianism, religion that was not Anglican Protestant, the list went on. (She considered herself lucky the government never found out her family was Jewish.)

Kitty looked to where the bass melody was coming from and saw an old jukebox. It looked to be made circa 1950 and had a pleasant rustic feel to it. This whole place seemed very cozy and lived in. "Ahem."

She leaped a foot and spun around in midair. It was N. He looked the same as when she last saw him, only now he wasn't wearing a cape.

Kitty blushed hard, "Sorry, you scared me."

N's genuine concern shone through, "My apologies, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, thanks. What is this place?"

"My home," he stated with obvious pride, "I call it the Shadow Gallery."

"It's beautiful," Kitty's eyes explored the oh-so-forbidden treasures of bygone days, "Where did you get all this stuff?"

N shrugged, "Here and there, but mostly from the hidden vaults of the Ministry of Objectionable Materials."

She was bug-eyed, "You stole it?"

He laughed warmly, "Heavens no, fraulein! Stealing implies ownership. I am merely reclaiming these items."

She couldn't take it. N started towards her when she started swooning. KLUNK.

The next morning, Kitty woke up to the smell of frying eggs. (I love this part! Kurt in a little apron! O.O) She fought with her stomach. N would likely get her killed. Those eggs sure smelled good. He was dangerous. Yummy eggs settling all warm in her tummy. N was dreamy… _Stop thinking that! He is not!_

Eventually her stomach won and she pandered to the mighty call of the eggs. N was in the kitchen with a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. Those _were_ eggs! (Anyone else craving eggs right now?) He was dressed the same as when they first met only instead of a cape, he had on a frilly apron. Kitty held back a laugh.

She walked shyly up, "N?"

He turned around to face her, "Guten morgen."

His tone was rather pleasant. Apparently he wasn't unnerved of her passing out.

She took a deep breath, "Look, about last night, I was just in complete shock. Everything was just so out of the norm that I…"

Her voice trailed off as she saw his ungloved hands. THEY WERE BLUE. Not only that, there were only two fingers and a thumb. The rest hadn't been cut off, they just WEREN'T THERE. "Your hands…"

"Oh, ja." N quickly grabbed his gloves and shoved them on. "There, that's better. I hope I didn't spoil your appetite."

"No. You didn't, don't worry." Kitty's heart went out to him. Poor baby, what had he gone through?

N seemed eager to change conversation, "Would you care for a cup of tea and some eggs?"

"Yes, thanks. I'm starving."

He led her to a small table and pulled out her chair like a gentleman. She sat down, watching N get out a plate and put the eggs on toast on it. He placed it in front of Kitty.

"Please enjoy, I've already eaten." She supposed it made sense in a sad sort of way. He would have to take his mask off and she just wasn't ready for a "Phantom of the Opera" scene just yet. Oh, well. Why think about that when there were eggs to be eaten…

Kitty's eyes rolled back in her head, "This…is…so…GOOD."

"Danke." N was obviously pleased.

"Oh God, I haven't had real butter since I was a little girl. Where'd you get it?"

"Government supply train to Chancellor Lensherr." The mask couldn't hide the smirk on his face.

That sobered her up out of Egg-Land like a cold shower, "You STOLE from the CHANCELLOR! YOU'RE INSANE!"

"'I dare do all that may become a man, who dares do more is none.'"

"_Macbeth._"

There was fatherly pride in his voice, "Very good."

"Mum used to read me Shakespeare, and it inspired me to want to act. I played Viola in the _Twelfth Night_ when I was nine. Mum was so proud." She smiled at the memory. She had felt like a princess.

"Where is your mother now?"

"Dead."

In a voice so quiet she could hardly hear he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

N was so empathic towards her, Kitty couldn't help but like him. He had the potential to be a good friend, bombs and all. But she had a question for him.

"Did you mean it? What you said on the telly, did you mean it?"

He looked at her, "Every word."

"You really think blowing Parliament to smithereens will make this country a better place?"

"There is no certainty. Only opportunity."

Kitty half was inspired and half was annoyed. Did N ever speak in plain sentences? She sighed.

"If any people do show up to join in, Creed'll black-bag every single one of them."

"People should not be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people."

She looked hard at him, "And you're going to do this by blowing up a building?"

"The building is a symbol, as is destroying it."

Kitty thought about this. Could N really do this? Could he turn the government's most precious symbols against them as he had with the Old Bailey and the news studio? Only time would tell for sure. She got up.

"Thanks for the eggs. Oh, and N?"

"Yes, fraulein?"

"Cute apron."


	6. N's Initial Target

Mi amicos! How I've missed you! Grazie for all your lovely reviews, Kurt in an apron _was_ pretty cute, wasn't it? Sorry, E, but I'm just not going to use mutants. Eric Lensherr AKA Magneto is in charge and I can't see him locking up mutants. It's humans he'd do away with. (I know Maggie is Jewish, but he'd make too good a Chancellor to not include.) Plus, if I did include mutants, they'd have used their powers to escape. N would have teleported out, Kitty would have phased herself away from trouble, Scotty would have never taken off his shades on a dare, etc. But I'll keep their personality traits, or most of them. Rogue will NOT be the Voice of London since he's a coward and N will kill him. I can't kill Rogue! I'm thinking of Moira McTaggert for the woman doctor later on. Anywho, please enjoy this next chapter in my humble story. Freedom forever.

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Scott Summers was watching the security feed from the attack for the umpteenth time. He stopped it at a scene that had been bugging him for a while, "Right there. What on earth is he thinkin'?" N was leaning over Kitty's body, wondering why she'd saved him. Summers thought different.

"He thinking about leaving her? For Crissakes, she saved his life."

"He's a terrorist, she's a mace-wielding bitch. They don't think normal. Two days later and my eyes still itch and that whack Zorro there gave me is starting to swell up like a zit." Evan Daniels put his two cents in.

(Using their s ending last names is giving my computer a stroke so from now on, unless in conversation, Cyclops and Spyke's first names will be used.) Scott disagreed, "Some part of him is human and for better or worse, Kathy's stuck with him." (Scott only knows her as Katherine Pryde.)

Scott thought for a while, and than asked another question, "Anything more on her parents?"

"Oh, yeah, that. Not good. They were both 'relocated' to Belmarsh"

Scott's soul plunged, "Ohhhh…" He'd heard stories about that "politically inept" incarceration hellhole. Even worse was what he'd heard about places for "foreigners", "heretics", and most sickeningly of all, "coloreds". You'd think after a few decades of equality, those barbaric prejudices would go away. Scott wondered just how lucky Evan was to have been shielded from all that ridiculous hatred and even become a respected officer of the Scotland Yard. He wondered if maybe N had the right idea after all…wait, that was treason! He couldn't think like that. Scott cursed his conscience again.

Evan, oblivious to Scott's thought, continued, "Yes, poor thing. Mom died during the hunger strike and Papa was killed when the military took the shed."

"Dear God…"

"Gets worse. Her little brother was at St. Mary's."

Scott froze. _St. Mary's?_ "Sweet Jesus…"

"If it weren't for the mace, I would be in bloody tears right now, but, what now, boss?"

Scott grabbed his coat and slipped on his shades. (On hard cases, he takes them off while examining the evidence. Only Evan and certain people at a party knew what color his eyes were.) "We got Kathy's story. Now we need our masked friend's."

Jason Stryker was a man who defined the sins vanity and pride. There were mirrors everywhere in his bathroom and several televisions featuring guess who: himself. He spoke along with the TV version on himself, which always seemed to mind-control those watching the broadcast, or maybe it was just his own wishful thinking?

"I'll tell you what I know! This fiend is no man! Does a _man_ wear a mask? Does a _man_ threaten innocent civilians?"

The bathroom Jason yelled out, "Who is he?"

"I'll tell you what that and every other freedom-hating, devil-worshipping, high and mighty terrorist is! A God-damned, bloody COWARD!"

Jason was cheering himself on when the phone rang. Why now? He was in the middle of a very important religious meeting, worshipping himself!

Darkholme again, stupid bitch. If weren't for him, she'd still be a stripper in Liverpool called Mystique. That or dead in a concentration camp for being "immoral".

Same shit, how her cameras made his nose look huge, how she didn't have enough shots of his odd-eyes, how he was a glory-hungry pig, etc. Finally, the whore shut her trap and he could go back to drooling over himself.

"I'll tell you what I wish," (That you could marry yourself?) "I wish I'd been there. I wish I could have a one-on-one with him. I'd show him you don't mess with London!"

A pair of doors opened with the flash of an ID card, Kitty's, and a small 'ding'.

Jason was busy smiling at the sound of his own voice, "This so-called 'N', and his little slut, Katherine Pryde, neodemagogues, both of them!" (Hey, another 'n' word!)

"Delivering a terrorist's ultimatum!"

Jason responded to himself, "Treason!"

The Voice of London went on, "Good guys win, bad guys lose, and as always, ENGLAND PREVAILS!"

Jason congratulated himself, switched off the multiple screens, and saw something that nearly gave him a heart attack.

N.

The Grim Reaper incarnate walked up and greeted the egomaniacal Stryker in a calm, but by no means pleasant, voice, "Good evening, Commander Stryker. How is your father getting on these days?" (Rotten SOB, torturing my poor blue baby in X2.)

"Dear God in heaven! How did you get in here?"

N just shushed him and continued, "Don't worry. I've made sure our happy little reunion won't be interrupted by anyone, Commander." His longish, straight hair fell out from behind his ear as he leaned forward. (Kurt has hair like that in _Evolution_, remember?)

"Why do you keep calling me that, you sadistic whack-job?"

Even through the mask, Jason could feel N glare, "That _was_ your title, wasn't it? Back at Larkhill? You wore a uniform back then, you looked ridiculous."

Jason hadn't had a flashback since he tried acid back in college during a hippy phase, but he could feel one coming. The facility, full of foreigners, homosexuals, religious "heretics" like Hindus, some Shintos, Catholics, Buddhists, and others. The experiments, the screaming of those being genetically altered to find a certain vaccine, one of the mutants they created… (So I included mutants. Sue me. I had to explain Kurt's appearance somehow. But these are different mutants, artificially altered and more like the V universe.)

Jason's eyes widened, "You?"

"The ghost of Christmas past."

Jason saw and heard no more.


	7. N's Flynn

My dear readers, I welcome you back to my little story. I keep forgetting to do disclaimers, stupid me. I own none of the might-have-been-ripped-off. If I did, V and Evie would have gotten married, William Stryker from the movie would have met a much more hideous death, Amanda from the show would have been on Winding Way along with Margali, they'd have put Azazel, Kurt's father, in too, and Kurt would be my boy-toy! Yow! () E, my first reviewer, I'm sorry about not knowing what you meant about Rogue as the Voice. That would be funny! "Ya'll know 'bout them terrists goin' 'round, blowin' stuff up. Honessly! Wass wrong wit' these people?" I spent seven years of my childhood in the gritty South; I'm still trying to shake off the accent! I'll try to stop putting in comments, but it's so hard! Is that all? Jolly good! Freedom forever.

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A few miles away from where justice was being dealt, Scott sat down in his apartment, far less vain and ridiculously decadent than Jason's had been. He needed a clue. He needed evidence. Hell, he needed a drink. No time to have such thoughts now. Sleep was best now. Yes, some nice, healing sleep…RING!

Why did the damn phone have to go _now?_ Swearing bloody retribution, Scott got up to answer.

He politely answered, "_HELLO!_"

A clearly distraught voice came on, "Inspector! It's me, Raven Darkholme! There's been a murder!"

Scott immediately straightened up, "What? _Who?_"

Twenty minutes later, Scott was at the scene of Jason Stryker's assassination. Jason was lying on his bathroom floor, naked. His shower was still going, although all the hot water had long ago run out.

The Inspector had been so rushed, he had forgotten his trademark shades and his amber eyes were unobstructed and could see everything. And I mean _everything_.

Scott winced at seeing the not-so-comely nude man, "Lovely."

He tried to avoid looking below the waist and noticed something rather peculiar. There was a small, red, _something_ on the corpse's chest. He leaned over and picked it up.

It was a bird. A miniature statuette of one, anyway. It was beautiful, with a long, slim beak, intricate red and gold feathers, jewel-like emerald-colored eyes, and flames leaping up all around it. It was a phoenix.

This case was getting increasingly bizarre. What on earth was a phoenix doing on the body? Did it signify anything? Or was N just a psychopath with no patterns or clues or anything? He'd have to ask Charlize Xavier about this one. She was the expert on this sort of thing. Darkholme was busy thinking of a suitable death to report on the news.

"Stroke? No, too tragic. A heart attack in his sleep, peaceful and quiet. Yes, the public will eat that right up."

Typical of her, the queen of the press. Scott seriously did _NOT_ need this. He needed a bubble bath and a week at a spa. Evan walked over, his face a blur of emotions. Oh, great. NOW what?

"We've got an ID tag on the door. Someone came in here two hours ago; twenty minutes before the murder was committed. Three guesses who."

Scott closed his eyes, "Kathy?"

"Yup. Katherine Pryde. Age: 24. Sex: Female. Occupation: Junior Personal Assistant; Jordan Tower."

Scott sighed heavily, "Kid's in deep. _Real_ deep."

Kitty's ear itched. Someone was talking about her.

She walked along one of the hall of the Shadow Gallery and paused. She could hear clashing, clanking of metal against metal. There were grunts, curses, and shouts. Was N getting attacked? Did he need her? She ran into the room and just stared.

A pirate movie was playing in the background, and N was copying the hero's every move, the lines memorized. Finally, he defeated his heinous nemesis, a suit of armor with no legs. He turned around and saw her.

Even with the mask, she could tell he was blushing. He finally found his voice.

"_Gulp._ Uhhh… hallo, Kitty." He was mortified.

She fought the urge to laugh, "Hey. I thought you were fighting for real."

Kitty looked at the movie N had been imitating. It was old, made probably in the '30's; with the lead pirate being played by an actor she had seen before but couldn't quite remember.

N seemed to notice, "It's, um, it's my favorite movie, _Captain Blood_. It stars Errol Flynn. He's sort of my idol."

This piqued her curiosity, "I've never seen it."

"Oh, would you like to?" He was a little eager. Poor guy must have been alone for so long, watching a movie with another breathing being must have been his Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka's.

"Does it have a happy ending?"

"One way to find out."

Scott was not exactly having a pleasure cruise. He was searching the 'victim's' house for evidence. He stumbled upon Jason's medicine cabinet. Dear _GOD_. He wolf whistled as Evan walked in.

"What, there nudie pictures in there…Sweet Jesus in Heaven above."

Inside was without a doubt the largest collection of prescription medicines they had seen outside of a pharmacy.

Evan cocked his head to one side, "Dude could start his own hospital."

Scott wondered about why this rang a bell. Then it hit him, "Did you know before he was the Voice of London, Jason Stryker was a stockholder in Viadox?"

The blond man snapped it together like Tinker Toys, "St. Mary's Virus and Viadox's miracle cure in less than a week. Coincidence?"

Scott narrowed his eyes, "If it is, I'll shoot laser beams out of my eyes."

N and Kitty were semi-snuggled on the couch, watching the end of _Captain Blood_. Finally, it all ended and they both stretched.

He turned to her, "Well, did you like it, fraulein?"

She smiled, "Yes, actually. They don't make them like that anymore."

"No they don't."


	8. Next Clue

They finally let me out of my strait jacket and put me in a padded cell with a laptop, so I can now update! Oh yeah! This chapter is a culinary delight with a main course of revenge, a side dish of romance, and a dash of angst, as is the whole story, actually. Thanks for your reviews; it is they who keep this lone wanderer going. As you can tell, I've had way too many sodas in the past few hours. I got my hippy-hair cut finally! Kelley will be the sick priest who DESERVES to die, he fits in perfectly. I'm planning on a story after this one's over where Kurt finds himself in a bar in Tortuga from _Pirates of the Caribbean_. Cool, huh? As always, beautiful people, freedom forever.

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N and Kitty had been flipping through channels for a while, looking for a show interesting enough to not send them off to la-la land. They couldn't watch any more of the old shows, before censorship was invented, since the DVD player overheated and they had to wait for at least four hours. It was Kitty's turn to flip through channels while N sawed logs, head leaned back and slightly snoring. She came across a news report and decided it was the best thing on. Hank's show didn't start for another hour.

She elbowed the masked marvel in the ribs to wake him up. "Nein, Mutter, Ich bin durst."

Huh? She elbowed him harder. His head jerked forward. "Was…"

"Something's on," the brunette stated. N yawned and cricked his neck. "Oh. I need something to drink. Please don't look."

"I won't."

She turned her attention back to the mightier-than-thou media. "…And the entire nation is in mourning as the loss of its most popular and beloved talk show host…"

She slowly sat up, attention caught. What had happened to Hank…?

"…Jason Stryker, the Voice of London, has sadly passed away from heart failure in his sleep."

Oh, not Hank. She said to N without looking at him, "Sammy-boy's lying."

He replied in a somewhat surprised voice, "You can tell?"

"When he's reading something he knows is bull, he starts blinking like crazy. It's easy to tell once you notice."

Sam Guthrie blabbered on, "He was a noble, selfless man who worked hard at his job and was firm in his beliefs. Jason, you will be sorely missed. Rest in heaven."

_Rot in hell, you hypocrite,_ Kitty and millions of other Englanders thought. But one thing bothered her. Where was her ID last night? Oh no. He didn't.

"Oh, N, I couldn't find my ID last night. Do you know where it could have gone?"

Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it… "Would you prefer a lie or the truth?" 

Insert huge bug eyes here, "You killed Jason Stryker, didn't you."

"You're not upset, just a little worried. Violence can be used for a higher purpose, but only in special circumstances. When completely necessary, which is sadly becoming more and more common in this ungodly day and age."

Kitty paused, "N, what are you talking about?"

"Justice. All this is is justice." (Sorry for the ed note but just so you know, the is's are not typos. Continuing where we left off…)

"Oh. I see."

N explained further, "No court will or would hold Jason Stryker. His celebrity status would have let him off with little more than a slap on the wrist at most."

"Are you going to kill more people?"

There was a nod from the forever-smiling mask.

She swallowed, "Are you…going to kill _me_?" There was faint fear and grim resolve in her voice.

He looked at her, "Nein! Not you, _never_ you." He started to walk towards her to reassure her.

"Please, N. I just need to go back to my room." She walked off, leaving him wondering for the first time if maybe his way wasn't the right way.

Scott was mulling over the case. Old Bailey, Jordan Tower, Jason Stryker, N, what did they all have in common? How were they linked?

"Hey, Evan, check this out. Stryker's military record."

Evan walked over and looked. "Iraq, Kurdistan, Syria, Sudan, busy boy."

"Yup, and right after he was put in charge of his father's detention center at Larkhill. The one by Alkali Lake."

"Yeesh."

"Amen."

Evan kept looking at Jason's records. "Think there's a connection between Larkhill and our boy?"

"It's a very likely possibility. Thing is, I can't find a record of the place."

A few hours and a bit of Evan's gut-wrenching driving and the two cops were at a government library looking up Larkhill. Scott was getting annoyed.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing, NOTHING! No record. Probably destroyed." He walked to a man who worked there. "Got anything on Larkhill?"

"No, sorry."

"This is important. I really need to know if anything here even has the word _Larkhill_ in it."

"You have permission to look through our records."

"What have I been doing for the past couple of hours! Knitting socks!"

"I'm sorry sir, but if our records don't have it, it never existed."

Scott glared. Sure it didn't. But he wasn't going to get anywhere with this man. He called it quits for the day.

Somewhere underground Kitty sat down wondering if she had been too quick to judge N. N sat contemplating if he should stop. He looked at one of his phoenix statues and sighed, knowing he couldn't. Justice had to be served. No matter what it cost him.


	9. New Nonsense

Oh, DEAR. It's been HOW many millenia since I've updated? My oh so lovely readers, forgive me. I've been swamped in a hideous quagmire of homework and some mutant flu (no pun, I'm really sick) and it's been difficult to update. Is nevarious a word? It is now... Love ya guys! FREEDOM FOREVER!

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Kitty took deep, calming breaths. "You can do this..." Just repeat the mantra, get in touch with your _chi_, hope the government never found she slightly dabbled in Eastern philosophy...

She took a glance at Hank's address, wondering if he was entertaining some pretty young lady or his _prefered_ company. Poor Uncle McCoy, persecuted for simply loving the wrong people. No time for Hank thoughts now, she had to speak to N. He was on the sofa where they had enjoyed watching Errol Flynn. Was he awake? Bloody mask.

"Hello?" Silence but forthe slightestnod. "Uh, I've been thinking. I want to ask you something, well, more like tell you, just so you know where I'm coming from, a few things about myself..."

N sat up, face turned to her, giving her his full attention. "My father was a writer. You would have liked him He would always say artists used lies to tell the truth, and politicians used them to cover it."

"A man after my own heart," N remarked in his voice, smooth, soft, like silk on velvet.

"He always told the most beautiful stories anyone ever heard until..." Deep breath."M-my brother... he, died. Everything changed after that. He was at Saint Mary's."

She remembered it well. They had argued not long before, something trivial siblings always quarraled about. It involved a football, that much she remembered. She told him she'd never forgive him. Later, seeing him blistered, covered in those awful, purple sores, never getting to apologize... Those memories would scar until the day she died. And to think he was one of the "lucky" ones who hadn't died on the spot and been welded together with the bodies of other innocent children, so closely that they were unrecognizable and were buried together with only a memorialcontaining their near-forgotten names. The new disasterous plague, the Purple Death as some called it.

"Afterwords, my parents became political activists" Handing out fliers bearing slogans like "Stop the Government Lies!" and "Give Us the Truth!". Things thatat the time were meaningless words she now knew to be oh-too-true.

"They protested the War, protested the Reclamation, protested basically anything and everything the government now stands for. The fact we were followers of Judaism was mercifully never found out or God knows what would have happened to us; I had seen on the news, the old one that didn't lie, what happened to those poor people who weren't white Anglican.Mum and dadwere at the riot at Leeds when Lensherr was appointed High Chancellor. I watched, hypnotized, on the telly, horrified I would see them killed. They would argue at night. Mum wanted to leave the country, go to Italy or another place where people like us were accepted as people, not infidels. Daddy said that leaving would only mean that they had won, like it was a game to be won or lost."

What came next was the hardest. She never actually _saw_ the moment of her brother's death. Only heard the nurse's words like the Words of Judgement themselves. But she saw and felt each and every moment of when her parents were taken. April 26, 2011, 9:58 pm, just as the Price Is Right was ending. (sorryfor the note but the Price is Right will still be on when currency has been done away with and it's being hosted by Bob Barker's head in a jar, and I'm quoting Meghann Marco and Ron White on this one) She was about to go to sleep with Bear in her arms when there was a sound like glass breaking. Her mother ran in in her night gown, terrified. "Kitty, get under the bed and stay very quiet, do you hear me!" Tears were running down her aged face and being only twelve she did as she was told, no questions asked. There were noises, shouts. Her mother screamed. From her hiding place all she could see were her Mum's bare feet, and thick black leather boots too numerous to count. Then her mother's bruised, bleedingface who whispered her name before disappearing foreverunder a black bag. She yelled bloody murder. Leather gloves dragged her out and flipped her on her back, shining their flashlights on her. Her last vision before her sight was smothered by those night soldiers was that of her mother's limp body being carried out, black bag firmly on her head.

"I never saw them again. It was like those black bags erased them from the face of the earth." There. It was out. Her whole gory story for N to see.

"I'm so sorry, Kitty." As always, he meant it. No German accent or mask could hide what he felt. It radiated from his entire being.

"No, _I'm_ sorry. I'm sorry I'm not a stronger person, that I'm not like my parents. I wish I was, so badly, but I'm not. I wish I wasn't afraid all the time, but I am. I know this world is screwed up. Believe me, I know it better than most. So, I need to ask: Is there any way I can help you? Any way at all? Please, just tell me so I don't feel so...useless."

N held his gloved hand to his chin. It was odd how diiferent his elegant, two-fingered ones differed so from the bulky, black bag-holding ones worn by governmental agents. "If you wish, my dear, if you wish."

Again, Scott and Evan were at the desk, listening to the rain. Twenty-odd years ago, they would have spent Saturday mornings like this seeing what new trouble the Justice League were getting into. Ironically, the idea of being a super-hero was what lead them to their jobs in the first place. _If super-heroes _were_ around, this would be the first place they'd demolish._ Scott thought absent-mindedly.

Evan broke the silence, "You really think we'll find anything here?"

He got a shrug, "Worth a shot." Oh, yeah, he was in real Fearless Leader mode NOW, wasn't he?

Evan spoke again, "It appears the original electronic records for Larkhill were lost, my bet's during the Reclamation. A lot of things went missing then, didn't they? Luckily, I found this hard copy filed down in the vaults. Everything we got on Larkhill's right in this little box.

For once, Scott lost all sarcasm, "Thanks, this'll be a big help."

Now if he could just get N to pop up like this...

Kitty cleaned to pass the time. N kept this labyrinthine haven near spotless by himself pretty well but there was always the occasional patch of dust or cobweb crying out to her. She came upon a mirror with an inscription written upon it's gold-painted, birchwood frame. Little by little, a Latin phrase came to view. _Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici_. How odd. She saw N in the mirror and turned around.

"_By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe_"

"Personal motto?"

"A quote from _Faust,_ a classic from my country."

"Thought your letter was _N_."

"Ah. But add just another line to _V_ and do you not get an _N_? Sometimes one must look harder and they will see everything is connected."

Was he trying to tell her something? Or was he just explaining why he had a phrase starting with _V_'s? With N, who knew?

Trying to pick up conversation, Kitty asked another question, "Wasn't _Faust_ about cheating the devil?"

Hi voice was warm, prehaps at her knowledge of something of his heritage, "Indeed it is. And speaking of the devil, I take it your offer to help me still stands?"

"Of course." Where was he going with this?

"Wunderbar. It appears I am in need of someone with theatrical skill."

"Glad to be of service." Kitty was just glad he remembered she could act.

He sighed. "Not when you hear your script."

Scott was getting a tad frustrated. "Another doctor." Evan was over his shoulder, as puzzled as he was.

"What on earth does a detention facility need with so many damn doctors?"

Evan shook his head, "Got me, chief, but _that_ weirds you out, you ain't seen nothing yet. Says here the highest paid person was a _priest_."

"What?" Forget puzzling, this just downright didn't make sense. Why would a priest, a man of God, need to be PAID? Didn't they all swear an oath of poverty? Or was that just Catholic clergy? He couldn't remember. Either way, there was a big fat question mark above this whole mess.

"What is right. Apparently, the good Reverend Kelley was paid nearly two hundred grand a month"

"Oh, really? Let's look Father Moneybags up then, shall we? Looks like the good Father's been promoted to bishop of Westminster Abbey."

So apparently, either this "holy man" was suffering from a serious case of the deadly sin greed, or he was being paid hush money. Then again, if the clergy in this country was anything like its government, maybe both.

Evan stuck his tongue in his cheek, "So, we going to confession tomorrow?"

"Yup. And I'm betting _his_ confession will need a lot more of God's grace than ours, wouldn't you say?"


	10. The Nevarious Nemisis

Well, my most beloved readers and reviewers, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for drumroll : THE PERVERTED PRIEST! Yes, mi amici, this is the chapter where N kicks some serious ass and Kitty has to dress up like a little girl! And yes, I have had way too much sugar lately! men in white coats come in and drag Kate away in a straightjacket Do I get extra points for Star Wars reference?FREEDOM FOREVER!

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Westminster Abbey was a quite lovely building if one stopped to look. And many did, for religous or other reasons. The Bishop Kelley was walking reverently through the Abbey's hallowed halls, head down in modest prayer. A younger priest was running, trying to catch up with him.

"Bishop Kelley?" He semi-yelled so as not to disturb the peace.

He turned and gave the man a fatherly smile, "Yes, my son. Have the... arrangements been prepared?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the poor lad tried not to show his revulsion, "You should arive in Perth in time to celebrate Communion."

Keeping up his smile in an Oscar-worthy effort, Kelley continued, "Now, now, my son, you know that was not what I was refering to."

_Blast._ "Ah, yes. _That._ There was some confusion and they've sent another girl. She's... _older_ than what you usually take." _You sick bastard._

Kelley's eyebrows shot up, "Older? Oh dear, not too old, I hope?"

"That is for Your Grace to decide." _God forgive me for helping this monster._

"Ah, well, Job bore his trials, I must bear mine." Kelley finished his last sentence with a glance heavenward and retired to his room.

The bishop's room was plush and extravagant, fit for a king and certainly not a member of the Anglican clergy. There were Persian rugs, tapestries depicting scenes of great hunts and conquests, antiques that once resided in the Museum of London. On the walls were icons, not religous imagery but very young girls, the oldest notyet twelve, portrayed as members of a brothel. On his humongous king-sized double-bed, wearing a frilly little dress with her hair in pigtails, tied with pink ribbons, small Mary-Jane shoes over tiny white ankle socks, and posslble make-up on her face, was none other than Kitty Pryde with a nervous smile on her face, hiding her disgust.

"Oh, my," Kelley gasped.

Kitty politely curtsied, "Your Grace."

"To think I doubted your loveliness for an instant. Mea culpa, my child, mea culpa." He looked her up and down, savoring every little inch. A tad older than what he usually went for but a treat nonetheless. Kitty tried her best not to gag. Keeping her cool in another Oscar winning performance, she still had a sweet smile on her face.

He walked over to the bed and sat down at her side, still leering, "Why don't you let me help you with your dress my dear?"

Kelley leaned forward, reaching for her shoulders when she scooted away, sick of these twisted little games.

"Sir, please, we don't have much time." Kitty felt like a traitor, N had been nothing but kind to her and judging by his mutated hands probably deserved his revenge and this psycho pervert needed to die, but she just couldn't let this happen. She hadn't had the same experience N had and couldn't understand.

"I need to tell you something sir," Kitty gulped. This was it, N would never forgive her but the police wouldn't be after her anymore, right? Was it worth this?

Kelley grinned, oh, she wanted to play first, "A confession? I love the confessional game. Tell me your sins, my dear."

Couldn't this sicko understand? "Please, sir, I'm not playing! Someone is coming to kill you!"

Blink blink, "Pardon me?"

"My name is Kitty Pryde. I've been the prisoner of the terrorist N for several days, and he's coming here to kill you." She felt horrible saying N held her captive when he had been so nice to her and obviously cared, N was no monster, but she had to do it. She had to say something."

Kelley was scared. He'd heard of N and Kitty. That maniac was coming here? Or was he? He smiled. Of coarse, the child was playing a game! "Wonderful! A game I've never played! Such a delightful mind, I hope the rest of you is just as interesting.." He slid his hand up her thigh and she couldn't supress a shudder this time.

Ew. This had to stop. "Please sir, you have to believe me...!"

"Oh, but I do! Let me show you the firmness of my beliefs!" He rolled on top of her.

"Get off me!"

"So, I've captuered the dangerous terrorist! How best to procure a confession?"

There was only one way out of potential rape. Kitty put her leg betwwen his and pulled up sharply. Crunch.

Kelley screamed and reached for his crotch as Kitty squirmed out his grip trying to rid herself of his feel. That had been revolting. Maybe N _should_ kill him.

Right on cue the door splintered in and there stood N, Death incarnate.

The bishop looked on in terror. "Oh God, she wasn't lying! It's you!"

N paused and turned to Kitty. She was near crying. How could she live with herself?

"N," she stammered through tears, "I'm so sorry, I had to..." Did she? She betrayed him. She knew it. She betrayed N.

"Oh, Kitty..." His tone wasn't angry or sad. It was, forgiving? How? After what she'd done he forgave her? Kitty couldn't take it. She didn't deserve to be forgiven. She ran.

"Kitty?" N started after her to help. This was Kelley's chance. He reached for the ancient Bible written by oddly enough Spanish monks during the occupation of Spain by Muslims. He opened it not to reveal old Latin text but a short-range pistol. He fired two shots but it was too late. N was swift and silent as a panther. The masked marauder grabbed the bishop's wrist and broke it with a twist. Kelley screamed and dropped to the ground like Padme from Darth Vader's grip.

"'And thus I clothe my naked villainy with odd old ends, stol'n forth of holy writ, and seem a saint when I most play the devil,'" N simply quoted before tossing the pistol to the floor. Funny how N could be so quirky at his home and so calm and cool doing his assassin's work.

Kelley looked up in fearful antcipation, "Who are you?"

"You once said I was the devil incarnate. Remember that, Bishop? Remember _Larkhill_?"

Oh dear, Larkhill. That place derived straight from the foulest reaches of hell. All he'd done was simply turn away, at a price of course, and had some... _fun_ with the younger female inhabitants. But that place was gone. And that monstrosity with it. The one the experiments had mutated so awfully... Oh, no. It couldn't be. It just couldn't...

"God have mercy!"

"He might. I won't."

Kitty dropped to the pavement and ran through the dark hushed streets. How long had she been in that horrid place? She didn't think about that. She just ran, hoping there wouldn't be a repeat of the event that brought N into her life in the first place. N. How could she have just stabbed him in the back like that? Oh, maybe she deserved to go in a black bag. She'd at least see her mom and dad again in Kingdom Come. No, she mustn't think of such things. She needed to get to Hank's...

Two namelesssurveillance men sat in a van turning through microphones set up throughout the Abbey. Finally, they set it on the one in the Bishop's room. "_No, please, I beg of you!_" One turned to the other, "Childrens' Hour at the good Bishop's." They snickered. This sick pervert had no idea that these fellow sick perverts always listened in on his _private businesses_.

They leaned in, expecting to hear some little girl's voice answer back. They got a shock when a man's voice answer. German accent, which was another shock considering all foreigners had been _relocated_, suited to singing cabaret if not for the fact that at the moment it was merciless and cold as ice. "Hold still and this might be quick and painless, Kelley." Alarm bells went off in their heads as they realized the bishop was _not_ having a good time.

"This is Surveillance One Zero Nine! We have an emergency!"


	11. Now it Comes Out

My dear readers, welcome back! The reason I have not updated in FOREVER is that I just got a jumpstart on my Kurt-in-Tortuga Pirates of the Caribbean crossover! If you have the time, please read. This is also being written in my Pink Floyd jammies.Alrighty then, I got the anonymous reviews blocker OFF so anonymous people out there, feel free to review! I did not know it was even there, I ain't THAT uptight. Okay, content of this chapter includes: Scott getting more obsessed with the case, Sabertooth being a jerk, Kitty visiting Hank, etcetera. Voodoo line borrowed from _the Crow_; Brandon Lee, requiescat in pace.Freedom forever.

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Scott looked down at what was left of the good Bishop Kelley. Yish. N had turned the man into a virtual voodoo doll and left a small phoenix statuette at the site, this time a Chinese version, red, yellow, green, blue, and black, but a phoenix all the same. Looking around the man's room Scott could only thinkthat Kelley haddeserved it. Child pornography. He shuddered at the thought of what must have gone on in this place. A Bible was carelessly tossed aside.

Scott peered closer, it was Spanish in design, but there was something Muslim aboutit. Maybe it was made beforeIsabel and Ferdinand took over? He wouldn't know. Flipping through the Book that was much lighter than it appeared, enjoying the ornate Latin calligraphy, he stumbled upon whyit was so light. It had been hollowed out, most unbefitting of a so-called Bishop.Kelley was holding a gun, that explained it.

The detective was nearly choking on the hypocrisy. A perfectly decent man whohappened to be homosexual was put in a "correctional facility" but this sick pervo was considered a head of English morals. Go figure.

Evanwas at his usual position over Scott's shoulder,"N's one step ahead of us as usual, eh?"

Scott's face wasimpassive, "Run every name in the Larkhill folder. I want toknow thelocation of these people, where they go, what they do, even what brand of fingernail polish they wear, and I want it as soon as possible. This guy works too fast for my liking."

"You got it, Chief," Evan replied half-jokingly, giving Scott a glimpse of the Evan he had known as a teen.

Scott gave a small smile to his old friend and saw something over his shoulder that disturbed him greatly, "Aw, hell..."

A few of Victor Creed's lackeys were scoping out the scene. Followed by the scuzzball himself. The "Sabertooth" walked calmly over to the two detectives who at the moment were resisting the urge to meow or give him the finger.

"Go, man. I'll take care of Creed." Scott whispered.

"Tell me if he hacks up a hairball," Evan snickered walking away.

Scott straitened out his suit and faced the enemy, "Creed, old buddy, what brings you here?"

"The murder of two prominent friends of Parliament is not enough for me to investigate with my own men? My, how things have changed. This is not an ordinary situation and requires services more attuned to _my_ partcular branch of work."

_Mm hm_. "Just don't detain my witnesses. I happen to need people with information also containing their _tongues_."

"Funny. But just so you know, Slim Shady, mistakes like Jordon Tower won't be tolerated. The terrorist needs to be caught, tortured, and lead a slow and painful death.," the older man answered calmly as usual, "And he happens to know our system quite well. We suspect an _informant_."

Scott's eyes narrowed, "Are you saying _I'm_ suspected of possible treason!"

"You got it, cowboy. Too much prying into stuff that's long been collecting dust and should've stayed that way. Don't look good to the boss. Your mother was Irish wasn't she?"

"You son of a..."

"Tragicit was to Ireland, St. Mary's. Look, tear," he laughed heartily, "If you don't want a fun little trip in a black bag, I'd suggest keeping your nose where it belongs, Summers, looking for that masked freak and his little slut. Now if you'll excuse me..." he said, shoving Scott out of the way to examine the body.

Scott turned away to find Evan. Oh, he'd find N all right. And he was going to rub that fucker Creed's face in it tillhe bled.

Kittypounded savagelyon the door, desperately hoping Hank was there. To her luck and relief, the large man opened it rubbing sleepy eyes. Eyes which soon bugged out as he saw her dressed like a little girl, "Kitty?"

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, "I didn't know where else to go!"

"All right, all right, settle down now. Come inside fast, don't know who could be watching," Hank replied, trying to see the cameras the government seemed to have everywhere.

Twenty minutes later, Kitty was in some of Hank's late friend Betsy Braddock's clothes and sitting on the couch trying to explain her situation the best she could while Hank poured her some single-malt Scotch, "Listen, I'm so sorry to put you in this position, I mean, every cop in the country's searching for me and you shouldn't even be involved in this, but I had no idea what else to do."

He looked at her warmly with a knowing smile on his face, "Kitty, stop worrying, dear. If the government searched my house you would be the _least_ of my worries. Please relax." She wasn't relaxing, "Very well, allow me to show you something."

The older man led her to a wine rack, "On my show, I've often said I don't make art, I make fun of it. The truth is I love art and do what I can to protect it."

He twisted an eleven year old bottle of Dom Perignon to reveal a room that gave Kitty Shadow Gallery flashbacks. There was less pop culture here, but the room had so much forbidden nostalgia of things long past the girl couldn't help but think maybe N and McCoy had some sort of connection. She gasped at one painting.

"Oh my God! That's _God Save the Queen_!" It was a highly satirical painting, back when satire wasn't punishable by firing squad, of Eric Lensherr dressed as Queen Elizabeth II. "I thought Lensherr had it destroyed."

Hank smiled, "He thinks that too. Cost more than my house, but no matter what, it always cheers me up."

She smiled back and noticed a beautifully detailed book in a glass box with exquisite calligraphy in a language she did not know. She cocked her head at Hank quizzically.

He leaned over her to look at it, "A fourteenth century copy of the Qu'ran."

Kitty was surprised, "Are you a Muslim?"

"Nope, I'm in television."

"So why do you keep it?"

Hank looked at her, then back at the Qu'ran, "I don't have to be a Muslim to find its images beautiful or its poetry moving."

"Is it worth it?" she asked not only about the Islamic holy book but about everything. N, Hank, what did they hold on to?

"Like I said, my dear, _you'd_ be the least of my worries."

Kitty was silent for the rest of the tour. As they were leaving she quietly whispered, "Thank you, Hank."

He gave her that fatherly smile again, "You're welcome, sweetie."

She sighed, "Y'know, this whole mess started when he blew up the Old Bailey," she didn't have to say who _he_ was, "I was on my way here..."

Her voice trailed off as she noticed most of the art seemed to consist of homoerotica. Not like she didn't already know but it was still sad to see why Hank had to hide and Kelley was widely accepted. She felt the same choking sensation Scott would ina few hours.

The large man sighed, "The reason I invited you to dinner that night was because a man like me is expected to entertain lovely young women such as yourself. If I invited who I _really_ desired..." his voice trailed off and his eyes misted, knowing he would never find true love with someone he could have feelings for. Kitty wanted to hug him.

He straightened up, "It's an old hurt."

"I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I am." he said in sad acceptance, "The truth is after so many years you begin to lose more than just your appetite. You wear a mask so long, you forget who you were beneath it."


	12. Nescapable End

I LIIIIVE! Sorry about the delay, I broke my foot. Itshattered, so bone was sticking out of my skin! >. No worries, I'm okay. BTW, a Chinese phoenix is a _feng huang_ and its colors are red, blue,black, white, and _yellow_, not green. My mistake. Alrighty then, this chapter introduces Moira McTaggert, who I did NOT make up, as everyone who either watched the old series or read the comics should know. Ooh, she's the bad girl! Or not. She's too nice to be taken seriously for a bad guy. Aw, there's going to be a romantically morbid scene. Freedom forever as always dear readers, freedom forever.

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"Phoenix statue, attack pattern, tsk, tsk. Same as the late Jason Stryker." Dr. Melinda Xavier knew what she was talking about. As the Chief Pathologist she was the best of the best. Scott had always liked her. Motherly yet professional.

"Got any leads on Mr. N yet?" She asked casually.

Scott sighed, "Don't I wish. But there is something you can help me with, other than the dead Kelley's body of course. You used to work in world religion symbolism before it was shut down by Lensherr, did you not?"

"Yes..."

"Well, do you have any info on this?" Scott slipped the two phoenix statuettes out of his pocket and into her hand.

Melinda looked at them carefully, "Astounding. These were found at the murder sites if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, "Phoenix statues. Well, I can make three different guesses as to who this guy is. 1. He's a whacko from Arizona."

Scott snickered, "With his accent, unlikely."

"2. He likes Egyptian and Chinese mythological birds."

A little more believable. He was obviosly fond of Tchaikovsky music, why not obscure mythology?

"3. He could be involved with the Shi'ar."

Scott went bug-eyed, "The firebird worshipping cult from Nottingham? Weren't they all 'incarcerated'?"

Melinda shrugged, "That was what we all thought, but then again, when has the news ever told us anything remotely true these days?" Truer words were never spoken.

Scott mulled over the new information. "Thanks, Melinda. Tell me if anything else comes up."

She smiled, "You got it, Slim Shady." She was the only one he liked calling him that. Creed could burn in hell. On cue, his phone rang.

"Summers."

It was Evan, "Chief, you need to get here RIGHT NOW. You have GOT to see this."

* * *

If Scott had ever seen _the Matrix_ he would have said he had a Keanu Reeves moment. "Whoa." 

Evan at at his laptop nodded, "You said it, buddy." It was the Larkhill file. Nearly every single person in charge of the facility was stone dead. The word _deceased_ was in a strait strait line except for one name that the two cops were looking at. Dr. McTaggert, Moira. Scott stared at the name, "Who's she?" Maybe he could get to her before N did. One less corpse with a phoenix statue would be worth it all.

Evan pressed a few keys on his laptop, "Not sure, boss. Here's what I got so far : She's from Scotland,after Larkhill shut down, she went Invisible Woman for two years, then she used her visa to apply for relocation to Sydney, Australia. Got rejected. Prob'ly running for dear life. After that, she dropped off the face of the earth."

Scott raised an eyebrow, "Changed her name?"

He got a nod, "Yep. Shall I call Registry and see what her new name is?"

"Go for it."

Scott watched Evan dial the number and thought back on N's little accomplice, Katherine Pryde. Was Kathy a helper or a hostage? By the looks of her house and what various friends had told him, he guessed hostage. Poor girl, getting caught up in all this chaos. If N had laid a finger on that kid he'd...

"Yo, Scott." Scott shook his head, coming back to reality. "What, Ev?"

Evan swallowed, "I, uh, I called Registry and, um, and..."

The detective's eyebrow's raised, "And?"

Evan's hand were shaky and sweating, "Dr. Moira McTaggert changed her name to Melinda Xavier."

Scott froze, "**_WHAT!_**"

* * *

Melinda Xavier awoke to the smell of roses. She looked up to see N, mask, cape, hat, boots, and gloves not present. His features shone out; blue skin, golden eyes, elvin ears, two-toed feet, three-fingered hands, long spaded tail. Features she had helped create. But instead of anger and hatred on his face, there was a sad smile. Instead of fury, the deepest sympathy of what he had to do were in those deep, golden eyes. In the silvery moonlight, Moira thought he looked like an angel. 

She smiled back, "I knew you'd come for me."

"You knew I had to, Melinda." In a way, saying Melinda in place of Moira was almost forgiveness. But she knew he would do what needed to be done. Even if he really had no desire to do so.

Melinda's eyes watered, "I'm so sorry. After what they did to you, I wanted to kill myself, but I couldn't. I knew you would come, and I couldn't bring myself to rob you of this. I deserve it. _We_ deserve it."

N delicately brushed a tear from her face, "You don't derserve violence and pain, Melinda, only release from your sorrows. You mustn't carry such guilt. I don't wear a mask now because I could never hide from you." There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice, only sadness. "This is for you." He pulled out a gold, orange, and scarlet rose which he had painstakenly shaped into a bird. A phoenix. It was beautiful. She smiled again, "Thank you."

He returned the expression, "I knew you would like it."

Clutching the rose to her chest, she looked at him, "Are you going to do it now?" She spoke without fear, only with inquiry.

Nheld up an empty syringe, "I did it ten minutes ago. I couldn't let you feel even that little prick."

"So there's no pain?"

He smiled and shook his head, "Nein, of course not."

"Thank you." She whispered again, and closed her eyes in final slumber.

N almost fatherly tucked the blankets in around her. He brushed a wisp of hair away and gently kissed her forhead. He walked away smoothly, a steady stream of tears running down his face.

* * *

AN : This scene made me cry in the movie. What can I say? Under my bloodthisty exterior beats the heart of a hopeless romantic. 


	13. The Diary of Moira McTaggert

OH. MY. STARS 'N' GARTERS. I haven't updated since gas was less than $100! Shame on me! Bad Kate! Bad Kate! (kicks self in rear) So MAD AT SELF! AUGH! (turns green and goes on rampage) I feel better now. Sorry for the breakdown. Btw, YESTERDAY'S MY BIRTHDAY! YAY! Without any further ado, my beloved readers, freedom forever.

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Scott Summers grabbed his partner Evan and burst through Melinda Xavier's door, hoping the woman he regarded as a mother figure hadn't suffered the same fate that had befallen the two previous victims, though in all fairness, it wasn't as if those men hadn't deserved it. But this was different. This was Melinda. No no no no no no no no no no no...

He got to her room and saw her sleeping peacefully. She _was_ sleeping, wasn't she? Then Scott saw the one piece of evidence confirming his darkest fears. The phoenix rose. She was dead. Scott had just lost his second mother. In a state of utter shock, he slowly slid to the floor, face more mask-like and emotionless than N's Fawkesian could ever be.

Evan was choking back tears. But he had to help Scott. They'd been friends since they could blink both eyes at the same time. "Hey, man. I'm not saying this is a big consolation, but there's no blood, no signs of struggling or suffering. She died peacefully."

It helped a little, "Thanks, Evan."

"Anytime Chief."

Scott slowly picked himself up and searched the room for any clues, though he knew N only left what he wanted to be found. Question was, what_ did_ he want to be found. Scott noticed something in his peripheral vision. Divine interference or history altering coincidence, who knows. It was a small, leather-bound volume usually used as a diary.

He picked it up and opened it. The inside marked it as the property of a Doctor Moira McTaggert.

Melinda.

Sabertooth wasn't going to get his hands on this. Never. He wasn't going to let this last testament of who he regarded as a surrogate mother ever since the incidentfall into _Creed's_ hands.

Later that night, Scott was curled up as comfortably as he could ever in the office chair, the book in his hands. Melinda Xavier's, or Moira McTaggert's, last testament, of sorts. He opened the journal, and further opened his case to levels he never could have imagined.

_May 23,_

_The first batch of subjects have arrived. I am horrified. How can human beings do this to one another? They were packed so inhumanly, black bags still covering their heads, calling out to Brahma, Allah, Buddha, God, Kami, and any other diety who would listen. But apparently none of them have, and by the looks of things so far, never will. I feel like a Nazi scientist at Auchwitz_ (correct spelling of the camp welcome, for I am lazy- K.V.H) _I wonder, did they all participate willingly, guided by madness, or, like me, were they forced into it under a volley of threats I can't even bring myself to write. I have seen snakes with more humanity than some of the souls running this place. If they even _have_ souls._

Scott was both shocked and confused. What in heaven's name went on in this hell? One way to find out.

_May 27,_

_Commander Stryker toured the torture chambers, which he called labs,with a priest called Reverend Kelley. He said Kelley was making sure that the rights of the prisoners were not violated and that nothing overly cruel was happening here. I could have screamed. In anger at the hypocrisy or in laughter at the over whelming irony, I'm still not sure._

Scott snorted. He could feel Melinda's, or was it Moira's, pain. Kelley overseeing that rights were not violated, sure he would. Lord only knows what happened to the poor kids in the cell blocks. He wasn't sorry one bit what happened to those two. He knew he shouldn't think it but, maybe N was right. In his reasons. Scott was sure there had to be a less violent solution, but some of these people he was hearing about deserved to die.

_June 2,_

_The viral experiments continue. The people in the experiments are suffering in the most dreadful ways. The can't look me in the eye. When I look in the mirror, I can't either. I should have stayed home in Scotland and never even thought of becoming a doctor._

Scott was nearly in tears. How could no one have known of this? How could everyone just believe everyone that disappeared had been "deported". And what were those "viral experiments"?

_August 18,_

_Of the original four dozen, 75 percentare deceased. All because of me._

"Not you, Melinda. Lensherr did it, not you." The detective wiped a rebel tear from his cheek, took a deep breath, and continued.

_September 18,_

_The virus is stable, the antivirus is not. It could just as easily kill. One strand of it is affecting a seventeen year old Catholic boy from Germany very strangely. His number is 1680. I'll have to look up his name later in the files._

N. Catholic and German, that's what got him locked up. The guy was only seventeen when the got him. For all he knew, N was even sixteen when experimentation began.

_The boy began complaining of sickness similar to the flu. When his blood was tested it was found that the antvirus was activily mutating his physiology and maybe even his anatomy on a cellular level. He has been moved from the medical department to his own and I have been removed from the other doctors and given special control of him. They say he could become something entirely different from a human and they are _exited_. The mutation could kill him for all we know and I am terrified for the poor lad. Oh, God, what have I done?_

Scott could simply stare. Mutation? Entirely different from human? For the love of God what on earth were these people _doing!_

_Over time the boy has been developing advanced reflexes and his bones have become more flexable, allowing his skeletal structure to be near contortionary. The eyes, once pure brown, have several gold streaks. His skin is taking a bluish tinge and I wonder if his mutatedDNA is not letting his lungs process oxygen as well as it once did.The scientists are wondoring if these genetic traits are keys to perfecting the antivirus. I'm worried if the lad will live long enough. I've found his name: Kurt Michael Wagner._

_September 20,_

_The screams woke me. I was somehow the only person in hearing range and rushed to his cell, placed next door to my room. The boy, Kurt, was on the floor, his skin a far more pronounced blue. His eyes were now mostly gold with a brown streak here and there. His ears were sharpening, His fingers were molding together, skin and tissue pushed up where they once separated, my guess to allow the bones to join,as were his toes, but they were also elongating. The whole process looked so painful and Kurt was looking at me, begging me in German to make it stop. His canines had slightly grown and were sharpening, poor thing. Most shocking was the beginning of a tail, a direct extension of his spinal column, a foot long now, and starting to spade at the tip. The scientists marked it as being forked although it is not splitting like a snake's tongue. I picked him up as best I could and hurried to the lab to get him medical treatment as soon as possible._

Scott was shocked N, _Kurt_, was some sort of genetic engineered mutant? No wonder he hated the government so. He only hoped his ex Jean hadn't suffered the same for being a Shi'ar follower. He didn't care if she did run off with his younger brother. He even hoped _Alex_ didn't get it. Maybe they'd gotten out. They had to have.

_September 22,_

_The DNA sequence of Kurt that was mutating has finally calmed down. I looked at what was left of the poor boy. His skin was a deep midnight blue, his ears looked like they belonged on Legolas, his fingers had morphed completely together into two on each hand, thumbs unaffected, his toes had molded near the same way, leaving two toes 1 inch thick and four inches long, his canines are nowfully fledged fangs, his eyes a deep gold, and his tail four feet in length and prehensile, the spaded tip as large as my palm. He screamed when he looked in the mirror. The scientists are ecstatic at what they have done. _"Homo Daemonicus"_ as they have come to call the child, they say could very well be the greatest scientific achievement in the history of man. They say if the viral attack doesn't scare the people into submission, an "unholy invasion" could wing all the people on their side. I am appalled. This is not a weapon. This is a seventeen year old kid they kidnapped and if Germany found out what they had done with one of its citizens it could start a war. With tears in his eyes he simply asked me, "Why?" What could I have said? I walked off crying. Dear God in Heaven, what did I do?_

Detective Summers mind was numb. What kind of government was he working for?

_September 23,_

_The boy has made an astonishgly quick recovery and has begun gardening to pass the time between tests. The boy has quite the aptitude for it I must admit. He especially enjoys growing flowers, odd for a boy. In one day the blossoms that had been drooping were pepped up again as though it were summer instead of the beginning of fall. Astounding. He began telling me about his life in Germany before his father had decided to move for a year to London. Poor lad. I'll have to ask the warden about ordering garden supplies. A bit late, yes, but by what I have seen today the boy could do miracles with them. I told him and a strange smile came to his face. Probably a side effect from the experiments. I should go to sleep instead of stay up and write this. Until later._

_November 6,_

_The explosions happened last night. It was the chemicals from the gardening supplies. He used them to make the bombs. Twenty minutes before he told me that it might soothe my my mind. That I should take my journal incase I wanted to draw anything interesting I saw. The fire spread rapidly, burning everything. I saw him lying down, propped on his elbows, wide-eyed in horror at what he'd done. Several officials had made it out, none of the "patients". He figured correctly that they wanted to die. He had. I knew now why he had asked me to go on that walk. He wanted to save me. I told him I didn't deserve it. That I more than anyone was responsible for everything, his mutation, his parent's and little sister's deaths, everything. He replied that I only did those awful things because I and my family were threatened with what those people inside had been through. I still asked him to kill me. His reply is the only exact quote I remember, "I don't want you to die. Of all the people in there, you were the only one remorseful about what was going on. The only one who tried to make the experiments less painful. But if you truly wish to... to die," he sobbed, "Then I will do it. But only after you've grown old and have led a somewhat peaceful existence. I don't want your final moment to be around this, " he said pointing to the smoldering wreckage, "I'll wait twenty years."_

_I told him I couldn't wait twenty years. Kurt smiled sadly but said nothing. So I asked on a lighter note why he really wanted me to bring the journal. I now know it's because my journal is the only record of what really happened at Larkhill and that he wanted someone I could trust to know, and then, maybe, the world. Whoever you are reading this, and I hope to God you're the right person, please don't think this is just some elaborate fantasy I wrote for my own amusement. I am likely dead at this moment. By Kurt's or someone else's hands. I hope it was Kurt who did me in. Then I could certainly trust you. If not, I hope I get the Pulitzer for this._

_Dr. Moira McTaggert_

Scott closed the book and ran his fingers through his hair, "Don't worry, Melinda, your book fell into the right hands."

* * *

A few notes:

I used "Michael" as a middle name because in one Marvel Universe Mystique raised Kurt (poor kid) and named him Michael.

For some reason, it really ticks me off when people call Kurt's tail "forked". Forked means split into like a fork in the road or a snake's tongue. (Or Artie's tongue.) His tail is SPADED. Just getting that across. Thank you.


	14. The Greatest Episode They Ever Did

Sorry for not updating folks. It's hard to update what with med-school and relatives dropping by and it's been a real mess. So, here's chapter 14, finally. I'm going to try and hurry and hopefully post the last chapter on, guess when, November the Fifth. Makes since, doesn't it? Please review. I'm begging you. "It's so lonely at the top of Olympus!" Freedom forever.

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**Chapter 14: The Greatest Episode They Ever Did**

For the second time in the last few months, Kitty woke up to the smell of eggs. Hank smiled, "Bonjour, madmoiselle!"

Kitty blinked, "What's that your making?"

"My mom used to make these. I called it 'eggie in a basket.'"

"It's just odd."

He looked at her, "How so?"

"When I was with him, you know, N, he made me eggs just like this."

Hank smiled, "Did he now?"

Kitty slightly laughed, "I swear it!"

"What a coincidence. Although there _is_ one explaination."

"Really? What?"

He stood up straight and tried to look menacing, "_I_ am N. At last you know the truth. Unbelievable isn't it? But underneath this old man's body there lies a ruthless killer who has fetishes for Tchaicovsky and Fawksian masks. Dun dun dun! _Viva la revolucion_!"

Kitty scowled, "Not funny."

He sighed, "I know, but without a studio audience I'm as useful as a bonfire in the Sahara."

"People go to jail for less than that."

Hank got serious, "Of course, he _was_ right. There is something wrong with this country."

* * *

Scott was surfing the web on the virus. St. Mary's, Three Waters, both carried the devastating plague that eventually wiped out nearly 100,000 innocent people. Fascinating, wasn't it? Both these attacks came so "unexpected" but somehow there managed to be a miraculous cure in just a week? The work of God? With what he read in Melinda/Moira's journal, he doubted that. More likely the whole incident was helped along by someone else. Not like he'd say it now, with the microphones in. 

Evan walked in the door, "Morning, Scotty. Bit early to be up 'n' at 'em isn't it?"

He paused, looking at his friend's currently un-sunglassed face, "You okay buddy. Your shades are off. Not a good sign."

Scott set up the little gadget he carried around with him that blocked the microphones for hearing conversations for a fifty-foot radius. Time for a little heart-to-heart, "I need to ask something, Evan. You can answer it or ignore it. I just need to get it out of my system. But oyu have to promise that this will not leave the office."

Evan shrugged, "Sure buddy. Is this because of the terrorist? What, man?"

"No."

"What?"

"St. Mary's Three Waters. The whole virus thing. I need to ask about that. I mean, okay, how to put this. What if the worst, most horrifying, deadliest bio-attack in the country's history, was not the work of religous extremists?"

"Alright, I'm humoring you, but how? We know it was. They were caught, they confessed, the whole shebang."

"I know, I know, and they were executed and maybe that's what happened, end of story. But I've been seeing these events and everything and I've been wondering: what if someone else released the virus? Killed all those people? Would you really want to know whodunnit?"

Evan shrugged, "Well, yeah, of course."

"Even if it was someone working for this government."

Evan looked shocked, "Sir.."

"That's what I wanna know. If our own government was responsible for St. Mary's and Three Waters. If our own damn government was responsible for the deaths of almost one hundred thousand people.

Would you really want to know?"

* * *

Several of Creed's Fingermen were busy scanning household conversations throughout London. There was talk about how the government lied to them, about the heroism of N, etcetera. The driver of the van stopped to look at a "Strength Through Unity" propaganda poster. There was a large red n spray painted in a circle, looking like an anarchy symbol. 

N's symbol.

* * *

Another board meeting. Everyone seated and ready for the interrogation. Tolensky began. 

"Based on random audio sweeps, sir, 80 of the public believe the terrorist is still alive with a 12 positive mention increase in the last month."

"Viktor?"

"We're handling it as best we can. Arrests haven't been this bloody high since the Reclamation."

"I don't want arrests," Chancellor Lensherr spat, "I want results. And if I don't get them..."

There was no need for him to go on. The Board knew damn well what would happen if results weren't given. And it would not be pretty.

* * *

Hank popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured two glasses. Kitty smiled. 

"What's the occasion Hank? Lensherr get the pole surgically removed from his ass?"

"Nope. It's a celebration. This could be the finest show we've ever done."

The screen showed Hank in his suit, looking good as he always did for _The Henry McCoy Show_, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

He paused to let the audience greet him back, " Welcome, welcome! We've got a great show for you all tonight! You won't believe it! I hardly believe it! Please, give a very warm welcome to... ERIK LENSHERR, OUR OWN HIGH CHANCELLOR!"

Across the nation, people were in shock. They could barely hold in laughs, "No! No! They can't do that! This is too good. They're gonna get in troub-le!"

Kitty's eyes widened to their extent. Hank grinned, "We threw out the censor-approved script and shot a new one I wrote this morning."

"Oh my God."

The band was playing a mocking version of "My Country Tis of Thee" as Lensherr walked by. Kitty took a large gulp of her champagne. She needed alchohol in her system. Fast.

"Lensherr" sat down on a talk show guest chair and Hank started up a conversation, "Chancellor, Chancellor, Chancellor, I understand you've been under some strain lately. The terrorist and everything. So, we're going to try and help you to relax. Oh, girls!"

Several ladies in quite revealing gold costumes surrounded "Lensherr" and offered him a tray with a glass of warm milk and a cigar.

"Warm milk! Nothing better!"

Hank nodded approvingly, "I understand you've had a glass every day before bed."

"Since I was a boy!"

In a secret place under ground, the real Erik Lensherr tapped annoyed fingers on the side of a glass of warm milk. Who authorized this?

"But you're wrong, Mr. McCoy. The terrorist was never a serious concern."

"Oh, really?" Unseen by Hank and the "Chancellor", a mysterious figure in black with a Fawkes mask was busy tying "Lensherr's shoelaces together and mischieviously giggled like a black-and-white cartoon villain, much to the viewers delight.

"Chancellor, are you saying he is not still alive and active?"

"N" carefully replaced the cigar on the tray with another, cackled again, and quickly stepped out of the scene.

"No, Mr. McCoy, the terrorist has been neutralized," the man took a puff of the cigar which promptly exploded in his face. The audience went into hysterics.

Hank suddenly got up and gave an exaggerated gasp, "Oh my God! Look, Chancellor! It's him! It's him! It's the terrorist!"

In the band was indeed "N" rocking back and forth on his heels like he hadn't a care in the world. When he noticed the faces looking at him, he stpped and apparently looked very nervous.

The "Chancellor" was outraged, "After him!" He stumbled across on his tiptoes do to the fact his shoelaces were tied and fell flat on his face. The roar from the audience could have woken the dead.

Hank shrugged with a "eh, what are you gonna do" look. Chase music came on as the guards chased N, N chased the girls. The girls chased N as he chased the guards, etc. A gorilla joined the choas. Hank ate a banana and threw the peel on the floor where N slipped on it and was promptly body-slammed by a dozen guards.

The faux-Lensherr seemed triumphant, "Now, the terrorist for the world to see!" He whipped off the mask to reveal,Chancellor Lensherr shaking off the cape and guards, "Unhand me! _I_ am your Chancellor!"

"No, **_I_** am!"

"**_Imposter!_**" they yelled simultaneously and fell to the ground trying to wrestle. Hank pointed at them both and scratched his head, trying to figure out which was which.

After a while the got up and straightened themselves up.

"I am the real Lensherr!"

"No, me!"

"Liar!"

"Fraud!"

"Faker!"

"Ready!"

"Aim!"

"FIRE!" the cried at the same time and fell down holding their chests as guns went off. The curtains fell after Hnak took a bow. N popped out from behind them, wiggling a cigar and cackling, ever the roguish villain. In that secret underground place, the true Chancellor Lensherr gripped the milk glass so hard it shattered in his hand.


End file.
